The Future King's Bride

DEAR READER LETTER

By Sharon Kendrick

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers. Love,

Sharon xxx

The Future King’s Bride

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

GIANFERRO had always chosen his mistresses well.

He looked for beauty and intelligence, but above all for discretion—for obvious reasons. Since the age of seventeen there had never been any shortage of willing candidates for this unofficial and unacknowledged place in his life, but that would have surprised no one. For even if you discounted the restless black eyes in the coldly handsome face, and his hard, lean body, there was not a woman alive who would not long to become a mistress to the Prince.

Especially a prince who would one day be King of Mardivino—the heavenly Mediterranean island over which his family had ruled since the thirteenth century. A prince who owned palaces and planes and fast cars, as well as a string of world-class racehorses. Untold wealth was at Gianferro’s fingertips—and who could blame women if all they wished was for him to stroke those fingertips over their bodies?

But now his quest was different, and daunting—even for him. Before him lay possibly the most important decision he would ever make. He could put off the inevitable no longer. It was not a mistress he sought, but a bride.

And his choice must be the right choice.

His two brothers were now married and had produced children of their own—and therein lay the danger. There was one way and one way only to ensure that his bloodline inherited the crown of Mardivino.

He must marry.

His heart was heavy as he glanced around the bedroom he had been given when he’d arrived yesterday. It was very different from the architecture of his own Rainbow Palace, but it was still a very beautiful room indeed. He looked around him. Yes, a very English room.

The huge windows were composed of mullions and transoms and diamond panes which caught and reflected the light from many different angles, so that it resembled an interior as airy as a birdcage. But—his mouth twisted into an ironic smile—a cage from which he was unlikely to break free.

Caius Hall, an exquisite sixteenth-century house, was home to the de Vere sisters—the elder of whom he was intending to marry. Lady Lucinda de Vere—affectionately known as Lulu—was everything that he could want in a woman. Her blood was as pure as his, and she added blonde and beautiful into the bargain.

Their families had known each other for years—both fathers had studied together at university and had stayed in touch, though meetings had inevitably become fleeting and infrequent over time. Gianferro had even spent a holiday here once, but the two girls had been young then—indeed, one had been just a baby.

And then, late last year, he had met the older daughter at a polo match. It had not been by chance—but brokered by a mutual family friend who had thought it high time he meet someone ‘suitable’. Almost without thinking, Gianferro had put his defences up, but he had been struck by Lulu’s self-assurance and her outstanding beauty.

‘I think I know you, don’t I?’ she had questioned cheekily as he bent to kiss her hand. ‘Didn’t you stay in my house once—years ago?’

‘A long time ago.’ He frowned. ‘You were in pigtails and ribbons at the time, I believe,’ he remembered.

‘Oh. How very unflattering!’

But that long-ago meeting provided a certain kind of security, a bedrock which was vital to a man in his position. She was no stranger with hidden motives; he knew her background. The match would be approved by everyone concerned.

After that they had met several times—at parties which Gianferro knew had been laid on specifically for just that purpose. Sometimes he wondered: if he snapped his fingers and demanded the moon be brought to him on a plate, would a team of astronauts be dispatched from Mardivino to try and procure it for him?

Throughout their covertly watched conversations there had been an unspoken understanding of both their needs and wants. He wanted a wife who would provide him with an heir, and she wanted to be a princess. It was the dream of many an aristocratic English girl. As easy as that.

Today, after lunch, he was going to request that their courtship become formal. And if that invisible line was crossed there would be no going back. There would be subtle machinations behind the scenes in Mardivino and England as marriage plans were brokered, as he intended they would be.

In a few short hours he would no longer be free.

Gianferro allowed himself a brief, hard smile. No longer free? Since when had freedom ever been on the agenda of his life? Crown Princes could be blessed with looks and riches and power, but the liberties which most men took for granted could never be theirs.

He glanced at his watch. Lunch was not for another hour, and he was feeling restless. He had no desire to go downstairs and engage in the necessary small talk which was so much a part and parcel of his life as a prince.

He slipped out of the room and moved with silent stealth along one of the long, echoing corridors until at last he was outside, breathing in the glorious English spring air like a man who had been drowning.

The breeze was soft and scented, and yellow and cream daffodils waved their frilly crowns. The trees were daubed with the candy-floss pinks and whites of blossom, and beneath them were planted circles of bluebells, magically blue and, like the blossom, heartbreakingly brief in their flowering.

Taking the less obvious path, Gianferro moved away from the formal gardens, his long stride taking him towards the fields and hedgerows which formed part of the huge estate.

In the distance he could hear the muffled sound of a horse’s hooves as it galloped towards him, and in that brief, yearning moment he wished himself astride his own mount—riding relentlessly along the empty Mardivinian shore until he had worn himself and his horse out.

He watched as a palomino horse streaked across the field, and his eyes narrowed in disbelief as he saw that the rider was about to make it jump the hedge.

He held his breath. Too high. Too fast. Too…

Instinct made him want to cry out for the horse to stop, but instinct also prevented him, for he knew that to startle it could be more dangerous still.

But then the rider urged the mount on, and it was one of those perfect moments that sometimes you witnessed in life, never to be recaptured. With a gravity-defying movement, the horse rose in a perfect, gleaming arc. For a split-second it seemed to hover in mid-air before clearing the obstacle with only a whisper to spare, and Gianferro slowly expelled the breath he had been holding, acknowledging with reluctant admiration the rider’s bravery, and daring, and…

Stupidity!

Gianferro was himself talented enough a horseman to have considered taking it up as a career, had it not been for the accident of birth which had made him a prince, and he found himself tracing the deepened grooves of the hoof-marks towards the stables.

Perhaps he would advise the boy that there was a difference between courage and folly—and then perhaps afterwards he might ask him if he would like to ride out for him in Mardivino!

The scent of the stables was earthy, and he could hear nothing other than the snorts of a horse and the sound of a voice.

A woman’s voice—soft and bell-like—as it murmured the kind of things that women always murmured to their horses.

‘You darling thing! You clever thing!’

Gianferro froze.

Had a woman been riding the palomino?

With autocratic disregard, he strode into the tack-room and saw the slight but unmistakably feminine form of a girl—a girl!—feeding the horse a peppermint.

‘Are you out of your mind?’ he demanded.

Millie turned her head and her blood ran first hot, then cold, and then hot again.

She knew who he was, of course. Millie had often been accused of having her head in the clouds—but even she had realised that they had a prince staying with them. And that her sister Lulu was determined to marry him.

The place had been swarming with protection officers and armed guards, and she had heard her mother complaining mildly that the two girls who had been drafted in from the village to help had done very little in the way of work—the place was so filled with testosterone!

Millie had managed to get out of meeting the Prince at dinner last night, by pleading a headache—wanting to escape what she was sure would be a cringe-making occasion, while her sister paraded herself as though she was on a market stall and he the highest bidder—but now here he was, and this time there was no escaping him.

Yet he was not as she had thought he would be.

He did not look a bit like a prince, in his close-fitting trousers and a shirt which was undoubtedly silk, but casually unbuttoned at the neck to reveal a sprinkling of crisp dark hair. He was as strong and as muscular as any of the stableboys, with his hair as gleaming black as her riding boots. But blacker still were his eyes, and they were sparking out hot accusation at her.

‘Did you hear me?’ he grated. ‘I asked whether you were crazy.’

‘I heard you.’

Her voice was so low that he had to strain his ears to hear. He could see that she had been sweating—saw the way the thin shirt she wore clung to her small, high breasts—and unexpectedly a pulse leapt in his groin. There was no deference in her voice, either—didn’t she know who he was?

‘And are you? Crazy?’

Millie shrugged. She had spent a lifetime being told that she rode too fearlessly. ‘That rather depends on your point of view, I suppose.’

He saw that her eyes were large and as blue as the flowers which circled the trees, and that her skin was the clearest he had ever seen—untouched by make-up and yet lit with the natural glow of exercise and youth. He found himself wondering what colour was the hair which lay beneath the constricting hat she wore, and now his heart began to pound in a way which made his head spin.

‘You ride very well,’ he acceded, and without thinking he took another step closer.

Millie only just stopped herself from shrinking away, but his proximity was making her feel almost light-headed. Dizzy. He was as strong as the grooms, yes, but he was something more, too—something she had never before encountered. When Lulu had spoken about ‘her’ Prince she had made him sound like nothing more than a title…she certainly hadn’t mentioned that he had such a dangerous swagger about him, nor such an unashamedly masculine air, which was now making her heart crash against her ribcage. She stared into his dark eyes and tried to concentrate.

‘Thank you.’

‘Though whoever taught you to take risks like that should be shot,’ he added darkly.

Millie blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’ll kill yourself if you carry on like that,’ he said flatly. ‘That jump was sheer folly.’

‘But I did it! And with room to spare!’

‘And one day you might just not.’

‘Oh, you can’t live your life thinking like that!’ said Millie airily. ‘Wrapped up in cotton wool and worrying about what might happen. Timidity isn’t living—it’s existing.’

Something about her unaffectedness made him feel almost wistful. As did the sentiment. How long since he had allowed himself the luxury of thinking that way? ‘That’s because you’re young,’ he said, almost sadly.

‘While you’re a grand old man, I suppose!’ she teased.

He laughed, and then stilled, the laughter dying on his lips, and something crept into the enclosed space of the stable—something intangible, which crackled in the air like the sound of the fresh, hot flames of a new fire bursting into life.

And as they stared at each other, another debilitating wave of weakness passed over her. Millie was brave and fearless on horseback, but now she prickled with a feeling very like fear, and the sweat cooled on her skin, making her clammy and shivery. As if she had suddenly caught a fever.

‘I’d better finish up here,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Who are you?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘One of the grooms?’

Some self-protective instinct made her unsure what to say. If he thought she was just one of the hands he would be out of here like a shot. And I will be safe, she thought. Safe from that dark, dangerous look and that unashamedly sexual aura which seemed to shimmer off his olive skin.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am.’

For a moment a cold, hard gleam entered his eyes—a sense of the condemned man being offered one final meal before his fate was sealed. Her lips were curved, slightly open, and he could see the moist pinkness of her mouth. He longed to kiss her as he had never kissed a woman before, nor ever would again.

And Millie saw it all played out in that one, lingering look. She was almost completely innocent of men, but she had observed enough of nature to know what passed between the sexes. She knew exactly what was going on in the mind of the Prince, and for a moment her heart went out to her sister. What if he turned out to be the kind of man who played away? Serially unfaithful—just as their own father had been?

But Lulu would handle it; she always did. She had had men eating out of her hand for years, and why should this man be any different? But this man was different—and not just because he was a prince. He was…

Millie swallowed.

He was fantasy come true—virile and strong and masculine—even she could sense that. And women would always gravitate towards him, in the way that a mare always went for the most robust of the stallions. Her feelings did a rapid turnaround, and for a moment Millie almost envied her sister.

She stared for a second at the arrogant thrust of his hips and found herself blushing—terrified that he might be able to guess what she had been thinking. ‘I…I’d better go,’ she stammered.

He laughed again, but this time the laugh was regretful, and tinged with something else which he couldn’t identify. ‘Yes, run along, little girl,’ he said softly.

‘But I’m nineteen!’ she defended, stung.

‘Better run along anyway,’ came the silky response.

She stared into the dark glitter of his eyes and did exactly what he said—rushing from the stable as if he was chasing her, out into the spring day which had been transformed by the mercurial April weather. Where before there had been bright sunshine now the clouds had suddenly split open, and rain was cascading down. But at least the droplets cooled her hectic colour and flushed cheeks as she dazedly made her way back to the Hall.

Wet through, she leaned against the wall of the kitchen-garden as she steadied her breathing. But her mouth felt as dry as summer dust, and her heart was still pounding as if it wanted to burst out of her chest.

She felt as if she was a cauldron, and he had reached inside and stirred up all her feelings, so that she was left feeling not like Millie at all, but some trembling stranger to herself.

And she still had lunch to get through.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MILLIE, you’re late!’

Above the hubbub of chatter, Millie heard the irritation in her mother’s voice. It was a voice which had been trained to rarely express emotion, but under circumstances such as these, with one daughter poised to marry into such an exalted family, it was easy to see her customary composure vanish when the other turned up unacceptably late.

Millie had tried to slip unnoticed into the Blue Room, where everyone had gathered before lunch, but the majority of the guests were thronged around the tall, imposing figure of the Prince. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her eyes looking down at the priceless Persian carpet because she did not dare to look anywhere else, terrified to look into those dangerous, dark eyes…because…

Because what? Because in the time it had taken her to wash the mud and grime and sweat from her body and to dress in something halfway suitable she had been able to think of nothing other than the shockingly handsome man who would one day become her brother-in-law? Trying not to imagine what it would have been like if he had kissed her.

‘Millie, it’s just not done to keep Royalty waiting,’ scolded her mother, and then added in an aside, ‘And couldn’t you have worn some lipstick or something, darling? You can look so pretty if you put your mind to it!’

The implication being that she didn’t look at all pretty at the moment. Well, that was a good thing. She wanted to fade away into the background. She didn’t want him looking at her that way. Making her feel those things. Making her ache. Making her wonder…

‘But I’d have been even later if I’d stopped to do that,’ Millie protested, and then a dark shadow fell over her, and she didn’t need to look up into that hard and handsome face to know whose shadow it was. She found herself having to suppress a shiver of excitement as he came to stand beside them and hoped that her mother hadn’t noticed.

‘Prince Gianferro,’ said Countess de Vere, with the biggest smile Millie had ever seen her give, ‘I’d like you to meet my younger daughter, Millicent.’

Millie risked glancing up then—it would have been sheer rudeness to do otherwise—and she found herself staring up into his face, all aristocratic cheekbones and dark, mocking eyes. Say you’ve met me, she silently beseeched him. Say that and everything will be okay.

But he didn’t. Just lifted the tips of her fingers to his lips and made the slightest pressure with his mouth, and Millie felt a whisper of longing trickle its way down her spine.

‘Contentissimo,’ he murmured. ‘Millicent.’

‘Millie,’ she corrected immediately as she dragged her hand away from the temptation of his touch and met his eyes in silent rebuke, some of her fearlessness returning to rescue her. ‘Should I curtsey?’

His mouth curved. ‘Do you want to?’

Was she imagining things, or was that a loaded question and—oh, heavens—why was she even thinking this way? He was Lulu’s, not hers—and by no stretch of the imagination could he ever be hers—even if Lulu wasn’t in the picture.

She nodded her head as she dipped into a graceful and effortless bob, hoping that the formal greeting would put proper distance between them.

‘Perfetto,’ he murmured.

‘Yes, it was an excellent curtsey, darling,’ said her mother, with a glow of slightly bemused satisfaction. ‘Now, please apologise to the Prince for your lateness!’

‘I—’

His eyes were full of devilment. ‘I expect you had something far more exciting to do?’

He was weaving her deeper into the deception, and she was wondering how he would react if she said something like, You know perfectly well what I was doing, when to her relief the lunch bell rang.

‘Lunch,’ she murmured politely.

‘Saved by the bell,’ came his mocking retort, and Millie saw her mother blink, looking even more bemused.

Probably wondering how her mouse of a daughter had managed to engage the Prince’s interest for more than a nanosecond!

There were twenty for lunch, and—as Millie had fully expected—she was seated at the very end of the table, about as far away from him as it was possible to be. And I hope you’re enjoying your lunch, she thought, because every mouthful I take is threatening to choke me!

But Gianferro was not enjoying his lunch, and course after course made an appearance. The food was sublime, the surroundings exquisite and the company exactly as it should be—except…

His eyes kept straying to the girl at the end of the table. How unlike her sister she was. Lulu was as pampered and as immaculate as a world-class model—while Millie wore a simple dress which emphasised her long-limbed and naturally slim body. Her pale blonde hair was tied back and her face was completely free of make-up, and yet she looked as fresh and as natural as a bunch of flowers.

From close at his side Lulu leaned over, and he caught a drift of her expensive French perfume. Inexplicably he found himself comparing it to the earthy scent of horses and saddlesoap.

‘You haven’t touched your wine, Gianferro!’ Lulu scolded.

He shrugged. ‘Did you not know that I never drink at lunchtime?’

‘No, I didn’t! How boring!’ Lulu pulled a face. ‘Why ever not?’

‘I need to have a clear head.’

‘Not always, surely? Isn’t it nice sometimes to be…um…’ She shot him a coquettish glance. ‘Relaxed in the afternoon?’

He knew exactly what she was suggesting, and found himself…outraged. Or maybe, he admitted with painful honesty, maybe he was just looking for an excuse to be outraged. But it was more than that. Gianferro was an expert where women were concerned, and today he had seen Lulu on her home territory—and instinct told him that she was not what he wanted.

She was beautiful, yes—and confident and alluring—but her manner had been predatory since he had first set foot in her house, and while it was a quality which was admirable in a mistress it was not what he wanted from a wife.

Now she was flicking her hair back and letting her fingertips play with her necklace—all signs of sexual attraction, which was well and good. But he had realised something else, and he knew deep down that his instinct was the right one.

She was not a virgin!

Whereas Millie…

His gaze flicked down the table and he found her eyes on him. Huge and blue, confused and troubled. And as their eyes met she bit her lip and turned away, as if she had been stung.

Once again he felt the unexpected throb of a desire so primitive that it felt like something deeper than desire.

‘Gianferro?’

He gave his most bland and diplomatic smile as he turned to the woman by his side. ‘S?’

Lulu’s eyes were shining with undisguised invitation. ‘Would you like me to show you round the estate this afternoon? I mean, properly?’ She smiled. ‘There are all kinds of hidden treasures in Caius Hall.’

Gianferro steeled himself. All his life he had controlled—had chosen the correct path to take—and yet the route he had been following had suddenly become blurred. He knew that the unspoken understanding which had existed so precariously between himself and Lulu would now never be voiced. No offer had been made and therefore there could be no rejection.

She would know, of course, and be disappointed—yes, invariably—but far better a mild disappointment at this early stage than engaging in something which he knew would never work.

He knew what he should do. Walk away today without looking back—but now he found he had chanced upon an unexpectedly clear path to take. His route no longer seemed blurred at all.

‘Shall we all move places for dessert?’ questioned Millie’s mother.

Gianferro nodded. ‘Indeed. I should like the chance to talk to both your daughters.’

It was undeniably a command, and the very last thing she wanted—or was it?—but Millie knew where her duty lay, and she took her place next to him with a fixed smile on her face, trying to ignore Lulu’s mutinous expression and wondering what on earth she was going to say to him.

Or he to her!

His smile was mocking as he bent his head to talk in a low voice. ‘So why did you lie to me, Millie? Why did you pretend to be one of the grooms?’ he accused softly.

Millie bit her lip. There was no way she could come out and explain that he had made her feel all churned-up and confused. He would think she was mad! ‘Just an impulse thing,’ she said truthfully.

He raised his dark brows. ‘And are you often given to impulse?’ he queried.

‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘Are you?’

He gave the same kind of almost-wistful smile he had shown her earlier and shook his head. ‘Alas, such an indulgence does not go with the job description.’

‘Of Prince?’ she teased.

‘Crown Prince,’ he teased back.

‘But you’re a person as well as a title!’ she declared.

How beautifully passionate she was, he thought. And how hopelessly naïve. ‘The two are inextricably linked,’ he said softly.

‘Oh.’

‘Anyway,’ he said firmly, ‘it is boring to talk of such things. Tell me about you, Millie.’

‘Me?’ She blinked in astonishment.

‘Is that such a surprising thing to want to know about?’

She didn’t want to say yes. To tell him that when you had an especially beautiful older sister very few people were interested in her. But he began to ask her about her childhood, and seemed genuinely to want to hear about it, and Millie began to relax, to open up. That strange and rather fraught encounter of earlier melted away as she began to tell him about the strictures of her life at the all-girls boarding school she had attended and about the jokes they had played on the nuns. And when his dark eyes narrowed and he began to laugh Millie felt as though she had achieved something rather special.

Until she realised that the whole table had grown silent, and that everyone was looking at them—her mother in surprise and Lulu with undisguised irritation.

‘What would you like to do this afternoon, Gianferro?’ questioned her mother.

He saw Lulu raise her eyebrows at him.

‘I will tell you what I would like to do,’ he said softly. ‘I should like to go and look at your horses.’

Lulu grimaced. ‘The horses?’

‘But, yes,’ he murmured. ‘I have many fine mounts in Mardivino, and I should like to see if you have anything here to equal them.’

‘Oh, I think you’ll find that we do!’ laughed one of the men.

From the centre of the table Lulu waved a perfectly manicured hand, first towards the window and then against her shell-pink couture gown. ‘But it’s raining!’

‘I like the rain,’ he said softly.

Lulu tapped her fingernail against the polished wood. ‘Well, if you want to get soaking wet, that’s fine by me—but don’t expect me to join you!’

There was an infinitesimal silence. He could read in her eyes that she now fully expected him to capitulate, to say that he had changed his mind and would see the horses another time, but he would never do that. Never. Never would he bend his will to a woman!

‘As you wish,’ he said crisply.

His displeasure was almost tangible, and Millie saw her mother’s stricken face as her lunch party threatened to deteriorate. She licked her lips nervously. ‘I could show the Prince the horses, if you like?’

Her mother gave her a grateful smile, which only added to Millie’s growing sense of discomfort. And guilt. ‘Oh, darling—would you?’

Gianferro smiled. ‘How very kind of you, Millie. Thank you.’

The easy atmosphere had evaporated and now the tension was back. Her heart beating hard against her ribs, Millie pushed her chair back, hating him for the way he was behaving and hating herself just as much, without quite knowing why.

‘Come on, then,’ she said ungraciously, and was rewarded with a slight narrowing of his eyes.

‘But you’ll need to change!’ objected her mother.

‘Oh, I’m okay—a little bit of rain never hurt anyone,’ said Millie firmly.

Lulu gave an edgy laugh. ‘Millie won’t care if she gets soaked to the skin—she’s such a tomboy!’